As I shoveled our driveway yesterday, I got so overheated I had to take my jacket off and work in a sweater. The ice patch in front of our steps has developed tiny rivulets under its surface. The birds have been visiting the bird feeder, and their morning song has lasted for longer and longer stretches. When I wake up at 7 am a promising wisp of light is discernible through the window curtains. When we sit down to dinner at 6 pm the sun still hasn’t set.
Like Napoleonic armies retreating from Moscow, the winter is still showing its outer might, but its spirit is broken. We can all feel it.Through my window
This transitional cycle between seasons would feel intolerably protracted but this year I thank goodness for the Olympic games! Like most foreigners I love the Olympic games and sometimes marvel at how much time I, and my European friends (mostly middle aged and elderly ladies,) are willing to spend watching sports that we care nothing about: luge, bobsleigh, curling, snowboarding, cross country skiing, speed-skating. Ice skating we like. My husband and sons, who love watching basketball, baseball and football, watch the Olympic sports only under duress.
I love the Olympic games and not for the sports at all. I love the congregation of different peoples all in the same place at the same time. In peace. How often does that happen outside the games? Never. But here they are, these young kids, all carrying their tribal DNA in their features, most of them here not to win medals but to meet young people from places other than their own, to share experiences and to have fun.
To see them all together is to know that winter is not forever and that spring will come after all.